TD - 15th Hussars HQ - Major's office

"Again you are too quick with drawing conclusions, Trooper" McIntyre interrupted. Maybe that was the boy's problem after all. "You may have reported at some point, you may damn well have not. We don't know. And the mere fact that you had to be brought here... see brought, not came... this adds to making it bloody well look like desertion to me!"

He studied the boy curiously, his face bearing nothing than the serious expression. "So I give you one last chance to speak for your defence before we come to the charge. Which for desertion... is death."

Death. Charge for desertion. Deserted. They thought he wanted to desert. But he was here. He had been here! He sought out the Second division when he failed to find his. He remained and though he had committed some wrong, he had not fled. Never had an intention to. Just to serve and fight, and the both that he felt he was sometimes stopped from doing.

Blood drained from his face. It wasn't a game played here, there would be no laughter after all was said and done. What they were discussing, even before his second trial was, whether he would be charged with desertion or not. And by the sound of the Major's voice he had already decided.

"Sir..I..I volunteered..joined the army,...the hussars...to fight. To serve loyally.. ...To..." He was barely keeping himself at his feet. "Sir. My judgement may have.. been.. I shouldn't have thought.. but.. you can ask. I had tried to return when parted... I had not run, when opportunity was there. I'd never have run. Sir.. There is no honour in running. Cowards desert.. I... ..I'm..no coward.."

The boy's distress was genuine now and he didn't even seem to try to hide it. But the Major wasn't done yet. He really wanted the Trooper to understand.
"Volunteered, eh?" he said in an almost mocking tone - as if that made much difference to being a soldier. "And you speak of loyalty... Joined the Hussars with our nice and shiny uniforms and our proude horses. One can take quite some pride in belonging to us, can't you?.... But then, first thing, you run off and hide with the infantry, without a horse, and getting all lured in by those new weapons" at that his disdain for the infantry was more than obvious "...and all your pride in being a Hussar to the winds... and you speaking of loyalty! ha!" he shook his head almost in sadness.

"No, boy, I don't think you know what loyalty is! Neither to your regiment nor to King and Counry."

He was shocked that McIntyre could read him in some ways so true. The rifles. He'd fancied their weapons, he found them of interest and delighted in their use. As much as it wasn't a place for a Hussar to show such sentiments , he had.

He lowered his head, his eyes cast to stare at the floor. He opened his mouth to speak and protest. Then he closed it again. His Bayard was lost, yet if only the major would have known how dearly he wished he were alive, how greatly he had regretted his loss.

He opened his mouth again, and managed a faint:" No.., sir." And a fainter :"..no, sir it's not..."

As at the meeting earlier, Pierce walked up to Timothy, his eyes seemingly full of contempt. In reality he just wanted the boy to speak, to state his loyalty, to show that he was a hussar, damn it, not a scared little rabbit. He leaned in and hissed at the boy.

'You want to play with infantry, lad? Well, I'll see you get your desire. Shooting is too merciful for you, let those redcoats have you hanged. Let them laugh at you. You have disgraced your regiment, your officers and your colours. I just hope you have no family, for your shame will be their shame now'.

"..." He wondered if holding peace would really help him any. If he would not speak, he was dead, so if he had spoken out of turn his prospects would not really grow any worse. And, though he could have attempted it, he'd rather have died than to call for help of his blood.

"Sir." He began. He had to be quick, for as long as the boost to his senses was lasting. The French were intimidating and he had survived them. On several occasions. His fate was sealed anyways. Yet it was ironic that it would be his side that was the end of it, when the French had tried and failed.

He hadn't felt an ache at his leg, for the adrenaline must've worked fair well to subdue it. "There is little that I have that might convince you that I have not deserted the day we had encountered the French. You may claim, that the Second has found me and that I, if it weren't for them finding me, would have moved on till I was safely back home. You may claim that the Portuguese civilian, who had helped me, when my leg had been bad, made an error of judgement, that we've had a miscommunication in which he thought I wished to the army when I had not. You may decide that my late arrival to report and that in the company of the lieutenant was because otherwise I would have found time to flee,.."

His eyes narrowed a slight bit below Pierce's. He still respected him as his officer. "...But all of these allegations are wrong. I might have been late, and that I cannot deny. But never have I thought... never have I intended NOR considered that I should flee from the army. My loyalty lies within it. To the King,to you, sir, to my troop, to your regiment, to the army whom I serve. I would die in battle if it ment that I have done my duty. "

His lips pursed into a thin line. If he had to die, then he wished to do so fighting not for something he had not done.

"You can call me many things sir, a fool if you wish to,.. but I am NO deserter. A thoughtless creature, yes.. maybe. But not a deserter." The only regret he now had, was that he had not said farewells with the riflemen and had solely disappeared when Waldegrave had asked for him. He wondered if Cotton would relay the news or if he would be too caught up in his work to do so. Perhaps he would forget. It wasn't his time to think of sober things though. He had a day to rejoice. He heared of his success himself. It would be alright.

They'd know soon enough, what befell him anyhow. It was pleasant after all. The time with the riflemen, when he had felt as a part of them, when he could ride along the lines and observe the men marching even when he had gone to follow a rifleman on his scouting and hunting of a rabbit.

Somewhere in the middle of Willoughby's speech, Pierce stepped away from the trooper and walked over to the window. He saw the same cat that Major did, the same street and the dust. Only did not care much for any of it: he walked away so that Willoughby would not see the signs of approvement in his countenance.

Well, he had done what he could though his speech seemed to have derived more from how he had felt than any belief that he would change the opinion of either of the two men. He nearly slipped to mention that he was also handing his loyalty to the riflemen. It was a smart thing that he thought it through before so saying. A hussar did not mingle well with a soldier of foot. There was pride in those who rode and a certain 'competitiveness' amongst these men.

Well, smartly or not, it probably wouldn't have changed his future neither. He held his face stoic. He knew he barely kept himself up right, yet on the outside it looked as if those fears he had earlier left him. As if he were but a proud and brave soldier now give what can. He didn't see the captain's expression, but thought him moving away had perhaps just been a sign of one who did not want to listen to his words because he did not care for them. Nothing, that the hussars serving under that captain were unused to. He was a sharp, stern man. And by some even a cruel one. Although he had also not been known to flog as much and in that the men did not consider him as stern.

After the Trooper's last speech - which had been something resembling a speech at last! - Major McIntyre regarded Willoughby for a long time in silence. He did hear him speak of having been thoughtless, a fool even, of his loyalty to the Army, of duty. But oh! he had hoped for so much more! There was no real pride, no fevour in the Trooper's words! No sign of honour and pride in wearing the blue uniform of the Hussars and thus to serve King and Country. There only was a weak defence, the acknowledgement of some failures and already a trace of what seemed to be resignation. And it were men with that attitude who were going to be the downfall of this Army! But now he had the chance to deal with one of them and he would be damned if he would let this chance pass!

He had noticed Pierce move to the window in what seemed to be desinterest after he had had his go at the Trooper. But he was sure that the Captain just wanted the same from the boy as he did: to shake some passion out of this stammering, shallow creature!

The Major got up and putting his hands on his desk leanded forward. His expression had changed from thinking to stern again. "It won't do, Trooper". He let the statement hang there for some seconds not bothering to specify. "It just won't do. There is nothing in your speech that makes a real defence. Intending to report is just not good enough. I have to show my men that I won't let such behaviour pass!"

He turned to Pierce "Captain, what is your oppinion on the matter?"

Pierce turned, a scowl firmly in place.
'It is of course your decision, sir,' he glared at Willoughby. 'I simply do not know whether we should waste our bullets on him or let the infantry waste their rope'. He finally stated in a cold tone. 'But example must be made one way or another, and I do not think flogging would do the trick: men like him cannot be taught, can they?'

"Sir. " He felt more humbled with each word either the captain or the major had spoken. "I may not..be worthy.. of the uniform of which the honour I have been given to wear.."

He hesitated: "The name which had ...given me such great pride to carry." And he was at loss of words again. What could he say? They've said it already. He didn't deserve it. He sighed. It was wrong.

Major McIntyre studied Willoughby closely now. He was still not getting any coherent sentence out but he had the impression that there was a change, subtle as it may be, in the boy's demeanour when he spoke of not being worthy.
"That's right, Willoughby, you're not worthy of the uniform you wear, not worthy of having a great horse, not worthy calling youself one of the King's Hussars! You're not... not with the way you were brought here, not with the way you stand here now." He took his hands from the desk and started to walk slowly. "You said you volunteered, did you not? Tell me, why did you do that?"
McIntyre didn't really know what he wanted to hear or what he thought that might change - he had already made his decision about what to do with him. But there had been something in the Trooper's eyes... or had he just been imagining it?

"...Because I believed that there was no other place for me to go." He paused and then continued: "..Not.. in the manner of not having a choice. For I had that." How much more true it was than either of the officers knew. He could have been standing here, before them as an officer himself. Perhaps of the cavalry instead of the Hussars. Yet an officer no less!

"But.. my heart would not let me choose different sir. The Hussars ..they are just.. special, better, ..I believe that others should not be compared to us....you. And were one to do so, it would have been an easy victory for our lines....." He searched for the proper words, feeling dizzy again. Why did it matter if he told the major. He had to steady himself, for the poor sleep, alcohol, stress were starting to take their toll on him.

"..The Hussars .. the noble cavalry men, sir.. only they could be a choice. Not the infantry, not even the navy."

He had to straighten again, for his body seemed more wishing to slouch and perhaps even have him lie down. If anything was sure, it wanted to just get over with it. If death be it, even that. His eyes shone with pride though, even through the exhaustion and fatigue.

So, he had been right! There was some kind of pride in the Trooper. The Major stopped behind his desk again. "That's true. Noble cavalry men, the best even. Standing out from the others. And you wanted to be part of that, did you not? Wanted to take pride in this uniform, in the way you had a marvellous horse and become alomst one with it in battle." He sighed, with a reproachful look on his face. "But look at you. Where is this pride, where is your loyalty now?" He looked him right in the face, almost willing him to say more, ignorant to Willoughby's obvious exhaustion.

A little longer, he told himself. Just a little longer and then he could rest back in his cell and he would worry no longer. After all, if the Hussars wanted to hang him, then the second trial could only be better or the same.

"...Sir. " He decided to answer with these words:" .. I'd rather have been a trooper in the 15th Hussars than an officer in any regiment of Foot. ..." He knew it had been a bold statement, for he dared compare himself to an officer. Something that he could neither choose to be - if a common man - nor should he as a mere soldier dare think of being.

".. ..my loyalty lies with you, for you..." He could not stand the gaze any longer. He felt faint, weak. He looked away and instead at Pierce. He didn't know why it mattered how he felt about the Hussars. And he was trying to make sense of it, but his thoughts just would not come. " I am sorry sir..if my actions have falsely portrayed... the pride I hold.. to wearing this uniform. The pride.."He swayed but caught himself just then. Was it going to last much longer? It was odd how ill he felt, and only due to stress and possibly a few sleepless nights.

Willoughby's first statement surprised the Major. No one could choose between becoming an officer or a mere trooper. That was not how things were. But that was not the point. The point was, that Willoughby had obviously chosen the Hussars and now done everything to drag their name into the dirt.

"So, you choose to be a Hussar over every other possibility you had. You got a uniform and you got a horse and with that you got a whole scale of possibilities infront of you. And what have you made of them? Nothing! And what is worse, you have disgraced yourself and the name of the regiment you serve." He paused a little, just enough to prolong the Trooper's distress some more. He did this not out of sadism, but because he wanted him to understand that he was responsible for his actions.

"And yet, you also speak of pride and loyalty. Of the pride and possibly the honour you feel in wearing the Hussars' uniform. And of the loyalty to your regiment, to us... me." The Major's voice and demeanour had been quite calm throughout this monologue. But now he had put his hands to his desk again, leaning forward.
"Then, God damn it, show us this loyalty, Willoughby!" He shouted these last words almost into the Trooper's face.

He had a thought to say, that he'd not done all of it just disgracing and that, as disliked as the infantry was, his own horse had done away with one. That wasn't something he was proud of, but it was something perhaps the cavalry would be pleased and amused to hear.

He breathed in sharply and felt the brunt of the man's anger. "...yes sir." He spoke sharply, as a trooper responding to an order. Though as much as he considered that order, he had lost his chance.

".....sir.. ...." He lowered his gaze. " I cannot show.. my loyalty other than in words, when I stand here. ... But tell me.. and I shall do as you ask. Order me, and I shall proove my loyalty.. in such manner. With... with even death."

Major McIntyre released his breath in an audible sigh. He felt quite worn out by now. The day had been a hot one again. How he longed to breath the fresh air of Scotland again!

And Willoughby had made it so hard for him to keep his patience. He turned from the Trooper to Pierce. "You tell him, Captain" he said to him in what sounded like exasperation, turning from both men and towards the window.

Pierce turned to look at the trooper again, his eyes full of contempt.
'Trooper Willoughby, you are a discgrace to this regiment, this uniform and out country!' He stepped closer, hands clasped at his back. 'The charges against you are desertion and failure to report for duty'. He came even closer. 'We all know what punishment is served for such charges'. He hissed at the boy, as he stopped scant inches from him.

'However, it has been decided that due to extenuating circumstances you shall serve only the punishment for the latter offence. You shall be on the stable cleaning duty as long as we stay in Coimbra, trooper. Let's see if your loyalty stands this test'. Pierce finished his monologue in the same tone as it was started.

The Major had been looking out of the window while Pierce presented the Trooper with his sentence. He turned around after the Captain had finished, curious to seeing Willoughby's reaction.

And so, now he was to be told. Rope or a musket ball. Perhaps in cruel irony they'd have used a rifleman to shoot. No, that would be too much like sport. Just a bullet, or rope. Rope, or a musket ball.

He braced himself for the impact. Done. Death.

He was sure it would be so even as he heard Pierce speak. With each word he felt himself grow more resigned, his heart sinking further.


'However, it has been decided that due to extenuating circumstances you shall serve only the punishment for the latter offence.

He blinked.

His charge, his penalty for desertion. It wasn't there. He felt the rush of emotions, the relief so intense , he felt euphoric. Yes, stable duty of mucking about with the horse's dung was awful but it was the most pleasant task compared to the loss of life.

He felt drunk with emotion, with joy, disbelief. He stared at the captain as if he'd just grown a pair of horns and a tail. Alive. Alive! Not punished for something he hadn't done. There was justice! And then his body could take no more. The rollercoaster of feeling and emotion, fear and now joy, how extatic he had felt, his body as tired as it had been could not stand it any longer. It had given him enough warning, enough of the many signs and suggestions that he should sit and relieve himself from the stress. He ignored it and now..

Blackness..

He didn't even feel himself land against the ground. Nor experience the sensation of falling. In an instant, with the last words spoken by the captain, which hadn't ment his passing, the world first became blurry, the room danced sickeningly and last the picture before his eyes faded into oblivion. And then he was on the floor.

Pierce was watching the storm of emotions on the boy's face, so when his eyes closed and he started falling he was able to catch the lad into his arms and lower him to the ground, kneeling and placing the boy's head onto his knees.

Frowning he unbuttoned the collar of Willoughby's dolman. 'Well, sir, it would seem we went a little overboard with scaring the boy'. He glanced down and his face suddenly turned worried, the severe features softening. 'Damn it! He said something about a concussion'. Supporting Willoughby's head with his hands, fingers splayed over the cheeks, so it would not move, Pierce called for the sentry.

Major McIntyre did not see the Trooper's loss of conscious coming and was quite surprised by the Captain's quick reaction. Wouldn't have added to the poor lad's health if he had fallen to the floor unguided. He moved to where Pierce kneeled on the floor, the Troopers head in his lap.

"Don't be ridiculous, Captain. Surely it was not our doing he is in such a state now. That stable work will hopefully improve his obviously lacking health."

There was a small knock at the door and a sentry entered the Major's office, looking confused from him to the pair on the floor and back. "Sir?"

"Don't just stand there, boy." the Major reproved. "Quick, get the doctor!"

'Sorry, sir, but we did lay it on rather thick, even though he deserved most of it,' Pierce smiled up at the Major, then looked back down. Gently, tentatively he slapped Willoughby's cheek, supporting the head with one hand firmly, as if afraid to let it move, lest the boy had a concussion. 'Come on, Willoughby...,' he sad, voice seemingly impatient, but worry still clear in his countenance.

The voices were distant, and try as he might, he could not place them any where near where he lay. Disoriented wondered for a time where he was and why. He felt another muffle of words and then felt a tingling sensation of a smaller lirghter slap.

There was a slight twitch of his eyes at the touch. Slowly he breathed in as only a man awake does. Somebody was calling to him. His eyes opened a tiny bit then slowly more:"....who.."